第69部分(第2/7 頁)

his　sweet　Bobbin；　and　on　a　tablet　in　an　annexe　appears　a　touching　memorial　inscription　to　her；　which　I　regret　I　had　no　time　to　copy。　It　does　not；　I　think；　appear　in　the　Life　by　Miss　Betham　Edwards。

How　sadly　read　his　words　written　at　Bradfield　in　the　year　1800：

I　never　e　to　this　place　without　reaping　all　the　pleasure　which　any　place　can　give　me　now。　It　is　beautiful　and　healthy；　and　is　endeared　to　me　by　so　many　recollections；　melancholy　ones　now；　alas！　that　I　feel　more　here　than　anywhere　else。　Here　have　I　lived　from　my　infancy；　here　my　dear　mother　breathed　her　last；　here　was　all　I　knew　of　a　sister；　and　the　church　contains　the　remains　of　my　father；　mother；　and　ever　beloved　child！　Here；　under　my　window；　her　little　garden　—　the　shrubs　and　flowers　she　planted　—　the　willow　on　the　island；　her　room；　her　books；　her　papers。　There　have　I　prayed　to　the　Almighty　that　I　might　join　her　in　the　next　world。

Well；　his　sorrows　are　done　and；　had　she　lived　the　full　life　of　woman；　by　now　Bobbin’s　days　would　have　been　counted　out　twice　over。　Let　us　trust　that　long　ago　her　broken…hearted　father’s　petition　has　been　granted；　and　that　this　pathetic　pair　once　more　walk　hand　in　hand　in　some　celestial　garden；　never　to　be　parted　more。

If　I　may　venture　to　pare　myself　with　such　a　man；　there　is　a　considerable　similarity　between　our　aims　and　circumstances。　We　have　both　been　animated　by　an　overwhelming　sense　of　the　vital　importance　of　British　agriculture　to　this　country　and　its　citizens。　We　are　both　East　Anglians　and　born　of　the　class　of　landed　gentry　or　“squires。”　We　have　both　been　official　servants　of　the　State。　We　have　both　written　novels　and　much　connected　with　the　land。　We　were　both　practical　farmers；　which　many　who　write　on　such　things　are　not；　and　in　the　same　counties。　We